


best practice, and proper diligence

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkwardness, Clothing Kink, Coming on Furniture, Established Relationship, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, linhardt: hanneman please get out of my office i'm TRYING to jack off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: work is a drag. life is a drag. linhardt is beginning to sorely, sorely regret agreeing to archive a bunch of hanneman's files.moreover; he misses byleth.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	best practice, and proper diligence

**Author's Note:**

> linhardt deserves to love himself in more ways than one
> 
> hanneman isn't relevant to any of the horny stuff he's there to cockblock linhardt and because i like him

“I’ll be picking up those papers tomorrow,” Hanneman muttered, half-distracted, seemingly unable to make any haste in his departure from Linhardt’s office, “so I’ll come to check in with you early.”

If Linhardt were to look backwards, and pin his current entanglements on anyone, or anything, he would find nobody to blame but himself. A fact that he’s painfully aware of, really. Deluded into believing he’d truly do anything to take his mind off of his husband’s Church-related trip to Faerghus, it was him, and nobody else, who had willingly approached Hanneman with a sincere offer to assist in the research he had been conducting at the time. Who had reassured Hanneman that, yes, he _was_ free, when he’d expressed concern about Linhardt’s pre-existing schedule (which he kept to as loosely as possible, though that wasn’t something Hanneman needed to know about.) 

_Perhaps_ he had done such a thing because of Byleth’s departure, or because Hanneman had openly stated that he was in need of assistance in sorting some of the documents and files procured from the vaults of their defeated enemies. But he had accepted Byleth’s week-long absence and Hanneman’s grunt work with eagerness- had given them nothing but permission- and now that he found himself horny, busy, and profoundly alone, he did acknowledge fully that both of the latter two were entirely his fault. 

Regardless of how tempting it was to blame someone else, of course. 

The former, however, was the greatest and most fervent occupier of his mind. He’d been afflicted with the feeling since the early afternoon, though it had been less pressing at the time, leaving him content to whittle the hours away with the review of academic papers and letters on the topic of Crestology. He’d had no shortage of materials, largely thanks to the great sum the church had begun to invest in the subject since Byleth’s assumption of the archbishopric. Indeed, it had been an almost _perfectly_ sufficient quantity to sort, annotate and file for the span of several hours. Such tasks, split somewhere between mindless and requiring his full attention (for each note and filing order needed to be reviewed individually, lest Hanneman wonder for the thousandth time why he allowed Linhardt anywhere near the records he kept otherwise so close to him), had been enough to quell the thoughts. Though Linhardt had his fair share of erotic crest experiences, such a thing was niche- to say the least- and not a single one of the documents had contained anything worth being aroused over. Indeed, what few scraps of racy content were present (mostly in the form of brief letter-bound descriptions of varied sexual escapades) seemed to do anything but turn Linhardt on. As far as he was concerned, he was busy, and as he could not spare the time to take care of himself properly, suppressing such feelings was for the best. 

Still. Like with many things, he could flee from it as fast as he wished, and it would still tail behind him. 

By the time Hanneman had arrived, Linhardt had felt blood lingering, directionless, in the shaft of his cock, rendering it half-hard and aching. Such had been the consequence of mere moments of distraction from the work he’d set in front of himself. An erection which wouldn’t depart, even when all Linhardt could observe was the dusty interior of his study-room and _Hanneman_ , who still seemed unable- or unwilling- to deduce any meaning from Linhardt’s half-bored scowl. 

“You’re doing rather impressive work here.” Hanneman continued. For the sake of his obligations, Linhardt nodded, not waiting to find whether Hanneman was facing him in the first place. As it turned out, he was not, instead finding particular interest in two preserved specimens Flayn had made for him out of the bones of rare and legendary fish. “I’ll admit, I have precious little clue what you’re working on right now.”

_Ideally_ , Linhardt groaned to himself, _I would be working through my frustrations with my hands_. A field of study whose research Hanneman was cordially uninvited from- should he ever leave Linhardt’s easiest and most convenient place of solace. 

As a substitute to his internal thoughts, Linhardt simply waved his hand, dismissive. “It barely matters,” he mumbled, “and I don’t know if you’d be interested.”

By that point, Hanneman had jolted upright from where he had been kneeling, no longer examining the cast debris Linhardt had preserved since his youth.

“I’ve love nothing more, you know. You’re providing me with such valuable assistance- it would be only fair for me to lend a hand in your new project.” 

Linhardt mumbled something unintelligible underneath his breath, quiet enough to remain uncaught by Hanneman’s age-tired hearing. He yawned, too, with only the smallest break between the two little gestures. 

“Hanneman.” His voice was insistent, a rare thing for Linhardt. But he was becoming frustrated, and while he had no desire to push Hanneman away on normal days, his presence did not- could not- do anything in whetting the _appetite_ which had overcome him. He deigned no professorial respect for his comrade, either- the days between his student-hood and then were many. “It’s in your best interest if you rest.”

“My, my.” Hanneman sighed, albeit with some gentle amusement at Linhardt’s sudden fire. “If you truly have no interest in my assistance, then you need only to say so.”

_Hm_ , Linhardt mused _. Evidently, I’m not being as subtle as I’d like._

_Still, if he leaves- I can hardly call it a loss._

“My apologies, Hanneman. It’s private business.”

The statement was perfunctory, but it seemed to satisfy the elder of the two, who bowed with practiced charm at his dismissal. Linhardt did not bother to restrain a small sigh at the sight of his compliance, beginning as he was to feel somewhat _heady_ from the blood which had drained from his head. 

“I shan’t pry. Though my offer remains.”

Once again, Linhardt muttered something vague underneath his breath, a non-committal _goodbye_ , or _see you soon_. Little gestures he’d never fully understood, particularly when they were directed to people he would inevitably see mere hours later. Such was one of the first things he’d found he’d had in common with Byleth- his sweet, _sweet_ Byleth, as untrained and unrefined in the social arts as he was. 

_Tall, but not to excess. The resolute type, who knows much, but prefers not to speak of it. Both the calloused hands of a mercenary, which feel so good against bare skin, and the tantalizing jolt of faith magic buzzing through him, erupting at the touch_. 

In the midst of his own florid descriptions of his lover, Linhardt did not notice how Hanneman departed, an opening and closing of doors which resulted in no fanfare whatsoever. It was only when his hand grazed against his cock for the first time that evening that he realized; flustered gaze re-surveying his office for any signs of presence. 

It was true, Linhardt supposed, that with the door unlocked, it was entirely possible for some exterior presence to barge into his space at any point. But the warmth of his palms against himself soothed the ache which had begun to permeate both, and he could not pull himself away from the sensation he had incurred, no matter how slight it was. Indeed, after a minute’s worth of half-hearted consideration of the issue, he chose not to remove himself from where he sat. If anyone were to disturb him, they would simply have to deal with the consequences of haranguing members of the faculty at odd hours, and perhaps learn some patience regarding making an unannounced entry into a young man’s private study. 

_Well_ , Linhardt pondered, _perhaps Hanneman does much the same_. He’d never been in a situation where he’d found anything to confirm or deny the idea, and none of his usual curiousity applied for the matter. 

In that moment, what was infinitely more relevant was the way his trousers and undergarments had come to bind him, creating an uncomfortable pressing of flesh. Without getting up from his seat, he began to strip himself of his lower coverings, thin fingers fiddling with the buttons and strings which held his everyday getup in place. Gradually, the friction he felt was replaced with the slight shock of cold air hitting the shaft and head of his cock, which became only more erect as Linhardt positioned it to be underneath his desk. 

Linhardt repressed a sharp hiss, incurred by the light touches, and wrapped his palm around the base of his shaft. He barely understood how he could be so aroused, mid-afternoon during a workday, after having to deal with _Hanneman_. But, as he did with his frequent need to sleep, Linhardt chalked it up to another inexplicable feature of his body. 

_Or_ , perhaps his Crest. It wasn’t something he’d looked into himself, but it wasn’t impossible. 

That thought was one he found himself quickly distracted from, as uncharacteristic as it was for him to lose focus on his most devoted subjects of study. His cock was not becoming any softer, and he was not becoming any less aroused. Indeed, it took only a slight reaffirmation of his grip on his cock for his mind to go almost entirely blank, incapable of focusing on anything but the carnal _urge_ to touch himself. Refusing, then, to wait any longer than he had to, Linhardt began to stroke himself at a leisurely pace. 

Despite the relief of his own touch, Linhardt could not banish the feeling that something was incomplete. It was fairly obvious, too, what he missed. Despite his insistence on being able to handle his absence, Byleth’s departure was beginning to take a toll on him. Enough of a toll that he became aroused for no reason whatsoever, while he was simply attempting to work peacefully within the confines of his study. Despite his unassuming exterior, and persona as a holy man, Byleth was nothing short of a demanding sexual partner. On his best nights, Linhardt and him could go several rounds, usually in several positions, often utilizing _special equipment_ \- as Linhardt described it- to accentuate the experience. 

And, yes, Linhardt missed many of the more innocent things about Byleth. He was beginning to mourn the loss of his _scent_ , for the Goddess’ sake. There was no substitute for the warmth of waking up by his side, or the sweet croon of his voice. His loneliness was not exclusively carnal- it was a longing for his lover.

But that longing, too, extended towards Byleth’s _intimacy_. The careful, gentle fashion he undressed Linhardt before taking him to bed, the soft kisses he would press to Linhardt’s cock if he were there, the raw confidence with which he donned large _special equipment_ intended to break Linhardt in like a book. Behaviours Linhardt found himself so hopelessly fond of that he could not help but imagine them taking place as he stroked the length of his shaft. Before Byleth had properly understood how to give oral pleasure, he had quite often licked the shaft, up and down, without knowing that such behaviours were more common as a prelude. It had embarrassed him at the time- to the extent he could truly be embarrassed, being the person that he was- though Linhardt had found great enjoyment in helping him master the more advanced techniques. That simple, amateurish tenderness was what Linhardt replayed to himself in his mind, however, as he built himself up gently, in no hurry to reach his climax. 

However, he quickly became disappointed with the lack of haste in his movements. In search of further motivation, Linhardt diverted one hand from his cock to the metal handle of one of his drawers. Touching himself with no lubricant had caused a great warmth to spread through his palm, and the metallic chill of the handle proved a shock when Linhardt first grasped it. Still, he opened it, and fished out a tattered neck-scarf that his lover had once left in his study, and which Linhardt had never bothered to return. A decision which- like many things- _could_ be chalked up to his general lethargy. But it could equally be attributed to the way Byleth’s scent clinged to the fabric like wildfire to a forest; undying and beautiful, at least to Linhardt. It had proved useful during Byleth’s previous day-long trips, reminding Linhardt of the sweet presence of his lover. Linhardt did not doubt that its use would once more be of assistance to him, and as he pressed the fabric to his nose and inhaled the scent as deeply as he could.

It reminded him of undressing Byleth, of stripping him of his work-worn shirts and the sundry shimmering things which denoted his status as the archbishop. Leathery, fiery, part-rusted steel- if one part of him clung to his life as a mercenary, it was the scent which, in turn, clung to him. Moreover, it reminded Linhardt of what he did once Byleth _was_ undressed- the way he would run his hands down the lean muscle, slipping his forefingers into his lover’s warmth, whispers of mindless praise melting into the trickling stream of gasps which would emerge from both of them. 

If Linhardt had been aroused before, he dared not put a name to the sensation which ran through him in that moment. His renewed imagination invigorated him, and even without the slickness Linhardt usually provided himself when he engaged in self-pleasure, he could not help the need to speed up. His hand came to grip himself tighter, and he moved more vigorously, to the point that the small noises Linhardt usually associated with loving Byleth escaped from the bottom of his throat and melted into the stagnant air around him. 

A small bead of precome emerged from the tip of Linhardt’s cock, slowly trailing down onto his hand. Linhardt noticed it, observed it as it slipped from the head to the crook between his thumb and index finger. But he did nothing to clean himself, wrapped up as he was in the deep lust he held for his absent lover. There was nothing he sought but his release, save for Byleth to emerge from the door in front of him and to touch him- but in the absence of the latter, he would settle for the former. Stubbornly, and in a rare display of concerted effort on his own part, Linhardt further increased the rhythm of his stroking, a trail of drool tracing its way down his chin. 

He let himself speak, though to nobody, and to nothing. 

“Byleth… You should be watching me doing this to myself…” Linhardt mumbled, speech juddering with the rapid pounding of his heart-rate. “You should be observing me, telling me what to do.” 

Another vision- of Byleth casting his typical cold gaze at the sight of him- threatened to send Linhardt over the edge. Another quick spurt of come emerged from him, and he yelped at the sight of it covering the edge of his desk. But he did not stop himself as he continued, as he let the fantasies of Byleth treating him as a subject consume every other thought he could summon. 

It was only so long he could keep his touching up before he came. His hips bucked forward as he did, release hot where it made contact with his hand, clinging to the other places it landed. The last thing he could consciously summon from himself was a loud cry of _Byleth, please_ , which rang across the high ceilings and empty air of his study. 

When Linhardt came to from the white heat that enveloped him, he found his vision blurry, struggling to regain focus. His room appeared as a blur of grey and brown and blue, and he shut his eyes again when he realized that regaining his sight was going to be a demanding endeavour. Instead, he focused on the heat of his softening cock, and imagined Byleth watching over him as he leaned back in his seat.

_Was that good for you? ...If you have some power that lets you watch me from far away… well, now would be a good time to let me know about it._

_...Was I this sleepy before I started doing this?..._

-

When Linhardt awoke, the first thing he noticed was darkness. 

Twilight had managed to seep through the high windows behind him, those which had once allowed a stream of natural sunlight into his workplace. He could still make out most of what his room contained; at the very least, he could trace the outlines of the larger pieces of furniture. He was unharmed, and he felt decently rested. 

But what came to his attention first was the way his hand was still wrapped around his cock, as if he’d simply gone from touching himself to the sweet embrace of sleep without bothering to find some space in-between. 

Which he had, now he thought about it. 

Sighing, he slipped his occupied palm away from his cock, which had long lost its concentrated heat. He brought it to his desk, tracing his finger around until he found what he suspected would lie on its surface- suspicions which were confirmed when he felt a dry substance tacked to the polished wood. 

Somewhat disgusted, despite his awareness that the mess was entirely his own fault, Linhardt dragged his hand away with immediacy. He sighed, audible, as he did, the realization that there was to be no escape from cleaning the thing before he left dawning fast and unpleasant over him. As if to constrain any chance of future incident- though Linhardt found himself categorically uninterested in touching himself again, faced as he was by the prospect of passing out so soon afterwards- he tucked himself back into his undergarments, and then pulled them up alongside his trousers. 

Languid, he took to his feet, and stretched. Surveying the desk, he couldn’t quite pinpoint where the stains had landed, but he had an idea. None of them would be tough to remove, but it was an extra step Linhardt could not entirely motivate himself to undertake. Only the thought of working at a desk stained with his own release dissuaded him from simply leaving the thing as it was, and fixing it at a more convenient time some other day. 

Another sigh escaped Linhardt’s throat.

_How lust drives a man mad_ , he thought, _and leads him to create much unnecessary work for himself_. 

-

In the end, he was thankful that he had gone to the extra effort. For as much as he begrudged having to do it in the moment, he suspected that coming back to it in the morning would be no more pleasant, and certainly end up distracting him further from the busywork he had taken on from Hanneman. Who, as Linhardt suspected he might, visited his colleague’s office almost first-thing in the morning. Linhardt knew, in his heart, that his arrival wasn’t malicious- after all, Hanneman didn’t know what Linhardt had done the night previous. But he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with him around, and once more tried profusely to have him depart the premises. 

“I can see you’re a busy man,” Hanneman had eventually conceded, after Linhardt continued to conveniently miss each request he made of him, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

Internally, Linhardt breathed a sigh of relief. 

“But, if you still have it, there’s a compendium I’d like to borrow from you.” 

“Of course.” Even if Linhardt needed it for the day, he didn’t mind giving it to Hanneman- so long as he would leave. “Is it the crest design encyclopedia?”

Hanneman nodded, affirmative. Again, Linhardt let himself sigh internally. That particular book was still on his desk, and he could easily hand it over to Hanneman. 

But when he took the thick book into his hands, he froze. His thumb grazed over a patch of something dried onto the surface, and he clenched his teeth. 

_Oh, Goddess._

**Author's Note:**

> tyyy for reading!! first byhardt smut despite how much i love them, hopefully ill have more on the way
> 
> my twt is @meowcosm, feel free to comment or kudos!


End file.
